AN ANGRY STORY
by jcdenton2012
Summary: ANGRY MARINES! FUCK YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! (warning story contains "some" swearing)
1. Boots or Rage

"We have Orks, we have lots of Orks! Command, send reinforcements, we won't be able to hold this position much longer!" yelled the sarcastic Imperial Guard solider through his helmets vox ponder as the adjacent radio pack weighing down his back while several kinetic projectiles ate away at his cover within the abandoned street level bakery. He was one of three guardsmen in green combat fatigues and poorly crafted metal chest plates defending the street level slums of Hive Bengheim from the Ork invasion onslaught.

"Negative Echo 3, we have strict orders… No front-line infantry are to move into the slums until after the Ork artillery has been silenced… you are on your own…" droned the female communications operator over his vox, causing the poor communications guardsmen being shot at several miles away from command central to grind his yellow teeth with rage. The poor sod felt another nearby artillery explosion glass the streets in white mist and mortar as the resulting seismic tremor set off several nearby vehicle alarms. His quadrant of the Hive Slums had already been evacuated several hours ago in the wake of the Ork Invasion, but that was little comfort to those actually facing the military onslaught at its worst.

A thin mist of toxic rain drizzled from the heavens causing a fog of bitter acid to consume the streets and partially demolished shops. Several guardsmen adorned re-breathers to help fend off the worst side effects from the hive worlds decaying atmospheric smog as an Ork battlecry reverberated across the landscape in a droning WAAAGH… intermixed with sporadic lasfire and human screaming.

"I repeat, Echo 3, you are on your…" continued the disinterested combat removed communications officer with a hint of snidness to her sacrificial grinder fodder until a brief static discharge blurred out her voice and replaced it with a very loud man yelling at the top of his voice, "FUCK OFF YOU FUCKING BITCH! HEY! YOU THERE! GUY ON THE FUCKING RADIO! GET DOWN!"

Before the guardsman could respond to the loud profanity from this unknown voice another secondary explosion, this time from an atmospheric shockwave, heralding several large falling orbital drop pods coming in hard on his position. These pods were yellow and ornamented with several strange angry face symbols, or imperial fist logos with a standing middle fingers wreathed in profanity. Phrases such as 'Always Angry, All The Time,' 'RAGE MACHINE,' 'TOO ANGRY, TOO DIE,' and 'FUCK HORUS!' adorned their pods along with ornate graffiti of stick figures kicking Eldar pirates in the balls, or what appeared to be space marines skull fucking dead Tau soldiers.

"Who the hell…" muttered the vox operating guard soldier more to himself than anyone else as one of these pods crashed into the street with a magnificent red fireball sharding stone and asphalt from a smoking crater where an unlucky greenskin had also been splattered and was now sizzling as it cooked beneath the pods burning hot metal hull.

Another small greenskin charged the pod with a crude raised battleaxe, foam falling its vicious sharks teeth and lips, but before he could reach the metal drop coffin the door was kicked away revealing a large space marine in bright yellow armor and red trim. The little orkling had but a few brief moments to grasp the awe of his opponent before the towering behemoth kicked his charging foe with a well placed metal boot into the aliens little green fury balls, thus causing this small greenskins bones to shatter from the aliens pelvis to its ribs as a sharp electrical surge erupted from the Space Marines shin grieve sending the Orkling flying away in a puddle of green gore and broken bones.

"NO MEANS NO YOU FUCKING LEG HUMPER!" yelled the space marine as he resumed his killing with a casual spray from his unshouldered bolter firing at the hip, "COME AND GET ME YOU FUCKERS!" he laughed menacingly as he mowed down numerous greenskins until at last the alien tide managed to close the distance through shire numbers and grit. It was now that the space marine's bolter clicked empty, but he was far from done.

All the guardsmen hunkered down in the bombed out shopping venue watched in silence as the yellow giant tossed his bolter away like a useless toy. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as the lone Astartes bashed his two fists together causing a brief electrical arc between them. This was prior to him running straight at the greenskins like a crazed wild animal.

"Power Fists and Power Boots?" muttered a nearby guardsman with a hint of surprise. The vox operator did a double take at his fellow soldering guardsman hunkered down for their own safety, and the insane Astartes, before the human tank unleashed his brutal assault upon the startled alien horde.

The Orks were expecting to overrun their foe… They weren't expecting their foe to attack them head on, and the sight of this towering heavily armored human running full speed at their superior numbers with nothing but his fists for his defense caused a rather large amount of confusion… that is until his armored hand slammed the first alien fuck nugget with enough brute force to shatter the poor Orks skull and crater in its face two inches inward with green blood squeezing cartoonishly out of the creatures ears and nose like a fountain.

All the guardsmen watched as the space marines fists left knuckle marks on the face of his first victim, 'FUCK,' second punch, 'OFFF,' with the ork flying backwards sizzling from the electrical sting. Two more Orks filled in his space. The first was kicked in the groin with enough force to shatter his pelvis and still have enough kinetic movement for the boot to reach his liver, while the second ork was collared by the space marine and punched in the face, before having a live grenade dropped down its pants and being kicked back into his pack, all of whom then went up in a gory explosion of green goo and red fiery shrapnel.

"OHHH POOR MR FUCK NUGGETS! HE WILL BE FUCKING MISSED!" laughed the space marine brutalizer as the rest of his companions suddenly streamed in from the nearby ruins with each man wearing his own distinct yellow power armor with angry face insignia.

"WHAT TOOK YOU GUY FAGGOTS SO FUCKING LONG! He yelled to them with a raised power fisted middle finger dripping with green gore and sparking with blue electrical discharge.

"FUCK YOU SERGEANT! FUCKING PODS! I'M GONNA SKULL FUCK THAT FUCKING TECH PRIEST WHEN WE GET BACK!" replied one his men with a middle finger salute while skidding down some nearby rubble.

"WHICH ONE!?" yelled another yellow armored space marine to the man that had just spoken.

"FUCKING TRISHKA! FUCKING MECHANICAL WHORE FUCKER!"

"TRISHKA!? IS SHE THE ONE WITH THE HUGE RACK!?"

"FUCK YES!"

"FUCKING AWESOME!"

"I FUCKING KNOW RIGHT!?"

"WILL YOU FUCKERS SHUT THE FUCK UP! WE HAVE FUCKING WORK TO DO!"

"FUCKING HELL!" grumbled all his men.

"Pst," muttered one of the still somewhat surprised guardsmen to his radio operating XO, "Who are these guys?"

The two guardsmen looked at one another, and then collectively as a squad they all shrugged before resuming their observations of the yellow armored behemoths loudly slandering one another or flipping one another off as they casually assembled in the war torn streets filled with corpses and rubble.

"I think…" trailed one of the guardsmen," I think they're Space Marines…"

"Bullshit," whispered their XO, "Why are they so fucking angry? I thought the Emperor's Angels of Death were supposed to be… well… not this." His subordinate all shrugged while the group continued to observe the towering yellow Astartes.

These Space Marines were an odd group, no matter the swearing, with the first of these immortals that the guardsmen had seen in action being the yellow Sergeant wearing duel power fists, and what appeared to be duel powered boots, the latter of which sparking electricity at his ankles as he wondered through the rumble tattered streets. His armor was the most ornate of the group and he wore what appeared to be a necklace of Eldar Ears wrapped around his neck not to mention a poorly written message upon his chest 'FUCK YOU THAT'S WHY.'

Another of his Battle Brothers was a towering yellow armored space marine in Terminator Armor with snare mines strapped to his forearms, shines, and stomach. Upon his chest were the words, 'Point Towards Enemy,' and a giant red middle finger upon his shoulder guard. This Terminator also carried what appeared to be… a shovel, a giant metal shovel sparking electricity from its spade, a 'Power Shovel.'

There was also another group of space marines, what appeared to be regular Battle Brothers loitering off to the side, punching cars, angrily kicking dirt, or breathing heavily while starring through vacant shop windows at their unfortunately tattered or otherwise destroyed wares. One of these men wore an… Eldar skull… strapped to his crutch, and above this skull were the words, 'YA MUM!' in big red letters. Another of these Battle Brothers carried several layers of Bangalore grenades strapped around his chest in overlapping layers as well as a Vengeance Launcher across his chest which he cradled menacingly while giggling to himself.

"YOU THERE! GREEN FUCKERS! WHERE'S THAT FUCKING ORK ARTILLERY!" yelled the one called Sergeant to the guardsmen who were collectively still taking shelter within the relatively safe bombed out nearby bakery like a pack of cowering dogs.

"North of here sir… grid… 546-234-…."

"YEAH YEAH YEAH! FUCKING GREAT! WE'LL FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT FROM HERE!" said the Sergeant, cutting off the guardsmen before he could finish rambling off the coordinates, but before tapping the side of his helmet to transmit a message abroad, "OK YOU FUCKING FLYBOYS! WE GOT WORK TO DO SO GET YOUR SORRY ASSES DOWN HERE!"

"FUCKING FLYING FUCKERS ALWAYS FUCKING FLYING AROUND WHO THE FUCK DO THEY FUCKING THINK THEY FUCKING ARE…" rambled one of his men while angrily kicking a block of nearby rubble like it had somehow grievously offended him.

It was now that a solid yellow Thunderhawk fell from the sky and swooped in with its afterburners clipping the side of a nearby building causing a small cascade of brick and mortar to fall into the streets below. This armored troop transport had several additional guns mounted on its sides including two flamethrowers, a mine dropper, and an undercarriage bolted refrigerator with the poorly painted phrase, 'FUCK YOU BECAUSE I SAID SO!' written upon its white exterior doors. There was also an angry frowning face shark's grin upon its prow with additional angry slanted eyes next to the pilot's cockpit. Red middle fingers, poorly painted insult graffiti, and the aircrafts name 'Terrance' adorned its glorious yellow hull.

"WHEEEEWWWWW!" yelled its pilot through the exterior PA system, "DID YOU FUCKERS SEE THAT! I SURE FUCKED UP THAT BUILDING! HAAHAAHAA! OK BITCHES LET'S GET A MOVE ON!"

"FUCKING MAGNIFICENT YOU GLORIOUS SON OF A BITCH!" yelled the Sergeant as he and his men entered the Thunderhawk from its sidedoors thus causing a temporary loud eruption of ancient Earths music to fill the planets otherwise bleak atmosphere…

_'I don't do what I've been told, You're so lame why don't you just go, Die Motherfucker Die Motherfucker Die, Die Motherfucker Die Motherfucker Die…'_

Seconds later the music muffled into barely audible null silence as the yellow armored Astartes closed the doors to their VTOL troop transport, and the aircraft ascended into the sky towards the Ork artillery base.


	2. Danger Dan Appears

"We'z got some hummiez boyz," yelled the Ork Warband Leader as he ushered his greenskin brethren forward through a hail of lasblasts, pointing and screaming at the flimsy pink skimmed humans cowering in their trenches against the green juggernaut.

The xenos scum ducked between bombed out ruins and flattened automobiles as they rushed through the war torn streets with artillery and gunfire raking the nearby abandoned buildings clean of their furnishings. These may have been savage Orks, but they weren't completely stupid. Despite their numbers, they had to clear the terrain between the guardsmen and the old canal roads without being cut to ribbons. Needless to say, the Orks in an odd bit of clarity started to use cover rather than charge in all gung-ho and ready for the killing.

Mortar and stone collapsed throughout the once prosperous Hive World Suburbs as guardsmen held a thin defensive breastwork of trenches dug into a nearby spiraling nexus of parks and continuously elevating street tenements reserved for the planets wealthy nobility and better off aristocracy.

They raked the advancing Orks with murderous fire, but… it wasn't enough. The Green Tide was inching its way forward despite the relentless pounding against their frontline troops. Lasblasts pecked away stranglers sporadically, but not enough to turn away their momentum which gradually overcame the open terrain dotted with occasional crumbling remnants of once prosperous stone buildings.

"This is it? Son of a… I'm going to die here… here… in a ditch of chem wastes," cursed guardsmen Ionia as she pressed her chest against the blood soaked battlements and quickly let loose another volley from her lasrifle. It was futile, she knew it, and everyone else knew it. In fact, some of the lesser trained rotated in troops fresh to the regiment were already breaking formation and retreating from the first lower rank echelons of the barricades. This cowardly scum was of course caught in a brutal crossfire between the next layer of trenches and advancing Orks, cut to ribbons, and left to rot in smoking piles of gored meat simmering upon the further upward defensive breastworks.

She hated that it was going to end like this, wet, covered from head to toe in brown sludge-mud that smelled of rotting cabbage. Ionia ducked back down and started to reload her rifles energy pack as someone else slide down to her side, skirting down a dirt pile, and splashing more mud upon their clothes.

"Hey Ionia," said Mercy with a hint of cheer, gallows humor she supposed, "Looks like we won't be making tonight's poker match," she laughed, ducking briefly for cover as some loose dirt was splashed over the breastworks from a missed artillery round.

Poker night, by the Throne Ionia had always hated her squad's old traditions. She, Mercy, Fredrick, Albert, and Tony would all get together once a week to play strip poker… and of course Ionia always lost to those perverted scum. She sighed; the loser had to walk back to the barracks across the parade grounds, getting laughed at by the rest of the guardsmen. At least the Orks had done something good for her with their timely invasion; she wouldn't be entertaining any depraved guard fodder with her naked bottom tonight.

The Orks were getting closer, she could hear it… that scream, WAAAAAGH! And then… something toped the trenches from the front. It was a giant black smoking machine, treads kicking back dirt as it assailed the trenches with a wail of diesel smoke bellowing from its engines.

Both Ionia and Mercy looked up, stunned and startled, as a Basilisk Artillery Unit plowed over the trenches while advancing towards the Ork Horde. The two women saw someone, a Commissar dressed in a strange red uniform covered in a black leather trench coat. The man was young with short poorly kept brown hair, and he grinned wickedly while pressing down the tip of his crimson Commissar cap, "Laaaaaaaaaadies," spoken seductively as he passed by, drawing his chain-saber and pointing it towards the enemy Orks.

"Make me proud you sons of whores!?" he yelled at the tops of his lungs, roaring machine saber pointing towards the enemy Orks.

Seconds later the Basilisk stopped its advance and fired into the greenskins, turning four of them into green paste with a single shot that also left a massive crater in the middle of the streets. Suddenly, the Orks stopped and started to slowly back away. There momentum was broken?

Ionia wondered if it was because of the advancing artillery from this nutty Commissar who suddenly showed up to save the proverbial day, but no… it was now that she looked up and saw THEM. Guardsmen in bright yellow armor with face visors painted in shark's teeth streaming down the sides of the trench-works like a yellow avalanche.

These men answered the Commissars prior words like crazed savages charging into the fray without fear or even the slightest concern for their will being while screaming the salute, "Better to die in defiance than live as a coward!"

Each man ran towards the Orks weapons blazing, topping the trenches running full blast into the Green Horde, it was like a crazed yellow wave of hornets, and besides them, like a giant mechanical bodyguard was a single yellow Dreadnought with back-mounted rocket pods, plasma launchers and flame throwers mounted upon its arms, and a giant red angry face painted upon its chassis. There was also a motif written upon the Dreadnoughts shoulder, 'FUCK YOU COCKSUCKER,' in poorly written font.

"I-SWEAR-I-WILL-BURN-YOU-ALL-BURN-MOTHER-FUCKERS-BURN-BURN-BURN-BURN!" yelled the monotone vox ponder of the dreadnought as it opened fire with its duel flamethrowers instantly cooking dozens of Orks where they stood, the Xenos screamed in agony as they collapsed into partially incinerated mounds of green meat.

"Follow Dangerous Dan!" yelled one of the yellow armored guardsmen with a raised fist towards the sky, ushering his men forward in heroic pose. What was surprising wasn't his bravery, no, what was surprising was that his men eagerly rushed into the fight against the Orks. Yes, Orks, savage, ruthless, brutal, and damn near unkillable thick skimmed Orks, to whom a lasrifle might as well be a primitive pee-shooter.

Ionia and Mercy watched them advance with the artillery support from the Basilisk, each man running into the fray with the artillery unit acting as a frontline Lemon Russ tank. As heroic as these men and their Commissar seemed, what was truly absurd was that cursing Dreadnought blowing up a series of Orks with several well placed Plasma bursts.

"YOU-FUCKERS-I-WILL-KILL-YOU-ALL-AND-MAKE-YOU-INTO-A-CANVAS-TENT-FOR-MY-BODY! I-WILL-SQUISH-YOU-LIKE-ROACHES! I-WILL-SKULL-FUCK-YOUR-BABIES! I-DON'T-CARE-IF-I'M-TRAPPED-IN-THIS-DAMN-THING-I-WILL-FIND-A-WAY!"

"Hey bitches!" it was a yellow armored guardsmen stopping briefly from his murdering, standing over the two stunned female guardsmen like a defiant hero, his feet spread out between the two sides of the trenches, "What are you waiting for. These guys aren't that tough!"

"Who are you people?" Asked Ionia still in shock as several large explosions erupted nearby. She looked over the rise of the trench just in time to watch several Ork limbs fell from a recently fire engulfed machine gun emplacement that the giant yellow Dreadnought had obviously smited before continuing its rampage through the city streets.

"YOU-FUCKING-PIG-SHIT-XENOS-SCUM-SMELL-LIKE-FUCKING-CHICKEN! WHEN-THIS-SHIT-IS-OVER-I-WILL-EAT-ONE-OF-YOU! YOUR-BLOOD-WILL-LUBRICATE-MY-BODY! I-WILL-FUCKING-SMEAR-IT-OVER-ME-LIKE-CHOCLATE! IT-WILL-BRING-ME-GREAT-PLEASURE-TO-WEAR-YOU-LIKE-FUCKING-CLOTHING! JUST-THINKING-ABOUT-IT-GIVES-ME-A-FUCKING-MACHINE-STIFFY!"

"Who are we? Why we're 'The Sons of Ollanius Pius!' Think of us as a private regiment of the Imperial Guard dedicated to upholding his principles," Motioned the guardsman enthusiastically with his rifle despite the carnage occurring all around him.

They both looked at him unblinking. Ollanius Pius, the Saint of the Imperial Guard who had given his life in defiance to Horus and defense of the Emperor as he lay wounded aboard the Chaos Flagship during the Siege of Terra. This… it was a… private regiment, dedicated in his honor?

"A private regiment?" asked Mercy with a look of confusion. To the best of her knowledge the Imperial Guard did not have private regiments, mercenaries, sure, but private regiments?

"Yeah, we all hail from the Angry Marines recruitment worlds and serve as a private regiment loyal to their banner. Most of the Angry Marines themselves are recruited from the children of our soldiering ranks in order to guarantee that only the most ballsiest and insane mother-fuckers serve in their Legion. Where else do you think they would get so many demented mother-fuckers willing to throw themselves in front of the absolute worst trash that the universe can throw at humanity!?"

"So, Ollanius Pius is your inspiration, then what does that mean you stand for?" asked Ionia in a state awe as she peered over the trench, catching a glimpse of true valor as yellow armored men rushed some very confused Orks. Men, she saw mortal men pushing back the green tide with nothing but their bare hands and bravery in their breasts as if possessed by demons of the warp. So many died, but the Orks… this thing they suddenly fought… it was truly something totally different from what they normally encountered against humans. These men truly didn't care if they lived or died, and it showed in how utterly relentlessly they pushed into the green storm.

"HA, what else," laughed the yellow armored guardsmen, "To fight and die without giving a crap about our bodies. To fuck with Chaos wherever we find it regardless of the consequences to ourselves. We've allied ourselves with the Angry Marines because at our cores we both share a common belief… and that belief is one that can be summed up in two simple words that the once legendary Ollanius Pius once yelled in Horus's face…"

..And on that note the guardsmen turned towards a group of charging Orks and opened fire with his lasrifle while yelling those two glorious words at the top of his voice, "FUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOU!"


	3. Only Pussies Use Drop Pods

Commodore Nathan Reynolds stood at the helm of the Avenger Class Grand Cruiser, 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' a tasteful if not articulate name for the Angry Marines Chapters most favorite Battle Barge. He was overseeing the data prompts from the numerous command and control thrones scattered across the helm deck as cogitators churned the vast amount of firing data into fine tuned lethal bombardments against the enemy Ork frigates in planetary orbit.

His ship, alongside the Heavy Strike Cruiser, 'Thy Sisters Poon,' and the Light Cruiser, 'Ye Olde Shagon Wagon,' were flying in tri-formation around the planet like a wedge while brutally cutting apart the enemy warships unlucky or stupid enough to get in their way. It was a confident military thrust… hard and fast into the enemy orbital lines…

"My lord, the latest news from the front says that Brother-Sergeant Slaughter has just landed and is making his way towards the Ork artillery position just outside of the main urban sprawl, and Commissar Dan is leading the 1st Battalion of the Sons of Ollanius Pius into battle in defense of the Imperial Guard Regiment which was about to be overrun. No news as of yet on Commissar Fuklaw or the Sisters of Anger. As for…" rambled the Commodore as he casually leaned against his command throne, studying the prompt runes as they popped up to display damage reports and casualty figures from across his battle barge. Before he could continue, cigar smoke drifted down from a raised command pulpit where a towering figure stood masked in the shadows.

"AWE HELL…" he grumbled in humor, "IT LOOKS LIKE THAT DICKLESS SERGEANT SLAUGHTER IS GOING TO HAVE ALL THE FUN." The words were spoken with a crude begrudging humor masking deep, deep anger muttered with a thick ancient Terran Southern accent. It was now that this persons towering figure leaned into the artificial lighting of the bridge revealing his shaved scar torn scalp with two deep dark eyes made all the more haunting by facial wrinkles and sleepless hanging sagging under lids.

The Commodore merely stood bemused as this Astartes leaned forward against the pulpits command dais, his yellow armored bulk bending the rails as his upper lip snarled in hate against his cigar. Nathan Reynolds had known this Astartes for a very long time, ever since he served aboard, 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' as a helmsman prior to late Commodore Oliver Drake choking to death on a chicken bone. To that end, his relationship with the Angry Marines Chapter Master was one built on trust… 'You do your job and I want won't rip your spine out of your ass,' as the Chapter Master had one so eloquently put it.

"Should I arrange for transport to the surface my lord? Perhaps… a drop-pod?" he asked, bowing his head and fisting his chest in salute. The Angry Marines Chapter Master looked at the glorious space battle occurring before him and snarled wickedly with anger. All those pretty explosions, kill, yes… he wanted to kill something, brutally, with his hands, make it suffer, kill, murder, screaming and blood, kill…

"DO WE STILL HAVE VEHICLES YET TO BE LANDED?" he asked while thoughts of brutal murder still roared through his mind.

"Of course my lord," replied the Commodore while checking a nearby cogitator, "nine Leman Russ Tanks, three Chimera APC's, several smaller walkers and trucks, and a Baneblade have all yet to offloaded from the hold."

The Chapter Master laughed wickedly to himself and started to stalk off the bridge, stopping briefly to speak to the Commodore, from over his shoulder "HAVE THE TECH PRIESTS LOAD DOWN THE VEHICLES WITH HIGH EXPLOSIVES. I'M GOING DOWN TO THAT PLANET, BUT I'LL BE DAMNED IF I'M GOING TO BE A BITCH ASS PUSSY AND RIDE IN A DROP POD."

And on that note the mechanical doors to the bridge closed behind the Angry Marines Chapter Master with his yellow bulky mass still smoking that fine cigar as he marched towards the ship's cargo hold. Numerous yellow suited Sons of Ollanius Pius saluted him as he passed, most were war torn young eager men and women formerly of the guard. Of course, the Cult dedicated to Ollanius Pius raised several critical questions regarding the legality of the guardsmen. Technically, they were under the authority of the Astra Militarum and by extension the Departmento Munitorum, thus the Angry Marines had no authority to command them, but… the Sons of Ollanius Pius were not raised by Imperial Tithe. They were more like unpaid mercenaries, supplied by the Imperium, sort of like the Blood Axes operating as an Imperial Sepoy.

Temperus Maximus watched all these fine soldiers salute him. The more ferocious men would have their lineage investigated for potential recruits to be given gene-seed. Of course, the genetic materials adaptability required that those candidates be male in order to become Battle Brothers. However, regarding the female potential recruits… long ago Angrymar had accepted a small temple bastion from the Adepta Sororitas. Unlike other bastions this particular covenant had… a particularly bad reputation.

The Sisters of Anger, the only Adepta Sororitas to openly accept the nickname 'Bolter Bitches' with swagger. They were an odd lot, sisters dedicated towards eternal hate and vindictive genocide against mutants and xenos alike. Rumor had it that their particular Covenant had developed out of the, 'Order of the Bloody Rose,' as a dumping ground for the mentally unstable. Literally, several ships just showed up over Angrymar one day and offloaded two hundred hate filled women in power armor to found their own temple.

Chapter Master Temperus Maximus had thought about throwing Canoness Elektra off his planet, but then he noticed how adorably insane she was when their first meeting ended in the bed chambers… and with him having suffered four broken toes from a romp through the pastures of pain and pleasure. To this day Maximus had no idea how that woman had broken his toes… everything he remembered about the ordeal was with him being on bottom and that meant physically… "My lord?" saluted a tech priest standing upon the gantry above the holding garage where numerous armored vehicles had yet to be deployed, "We've cleared the deck… except for a few soldiers refusing to abandon their gun turrets. They said you would need AA fire on your descent."

Temperus Maximus, looked down at the yellow armored guardsmen still manning their vehicles mounted turrets with exo-environmental suits adorned for space combat. Insane, utterly insane, suicidal, reckless… and perfect, "RECORD THEIR NAMES ADEPT," ordered the Space Marine Chapter Master, "AFTER THIS IS OVER WE WILL NEED TO INVESTIGATE THEIR FAMILIES"

Yes, investigate. The young boys would be inspected for potential recruitment by the Angry Marines Chapter while the potential young girls would be inspected for enrollment by Canoness Elektra and her Sisters of Anger. Technically, both the Angry Marines and Sisters of Anger were two separate organizations on paper, but in operation they fought side by side with the Sons of Ollanius Pius as a sort of 'experiment' by, 'The Old Man,' that ancient Inquisitor nobody liked to talk about.

"Of course my lord, and just so you know… the machine spirits of these vehicles are eager to perish. If I recall the Baneblade's thoughts and feelings correctly… the machine spirit felt as though this was a, 'glorious badass way to go out in a blaze of glory'…"said the Tech Adept.. Unlike most members of the Martian Machine Cult who balked at the idea of such fine vehicles being needlessly wasted, this red hooded man tended to commune with the machine spirits not so much as a caretaker but rather than as a friend. And to that end, he often took what the machines wanted to do into account better than most of his Mechanicus brethren.

This was one thing that made the Angry Marines so unique. Not only did they seek out and support those few machine cultists willing to let their charges die honorably in battle, but they openly petitioned the Cult of Mars for what they described as, 'THE ULTIMATE BADASS TOTALLY NOT PUSSY MACHINE SPIRITS,' for their military ranks. This had two effects. The first was that the Angry Marines equipment was often very ancient and barely operable trash that no one else wanted to use anymore, and second was that the Angry Marines often augmented their equipment to make it even more badass because according to the official accounts from the delivering tech priests… 'the machine spirits were fine with it.' Whether or not this was an attempt to appease the Angry Marine military demands while not needlessly sacrificing perfectly fine machines, or an intentional effort to deliver armored vehicles that wanted to die gloriously in battle… no one knew for certain.

The Angry Marines Chapter Master nodded towards the Adept, who then scurried away behind a series of closing airlocks that separated the, 'The Omnissiah's Dick's,' cargo hold from the vacuum of space. Seconds later the rear hatch opened into the oxygen absent silence of the void revealing the glorious flashes and explosions from the planetary combat all around the Imperial Grand Cruiser.

Streams of air started to tug at the numerous parked vehicles as the cargo hold vented, pulling them all out into space. Temperus Maximus adorned his helmet and grinned shortly before leaping down upon the gun turret of the Baneblade Super Heavy tank as it crept towards the exit hatch.

It started as a small tug and ended with a giant pull as the contents of the Imperial Grand Cruiser were vented out into space. All the vehicles started to skip across the upper atmosphere of the Hive World as Chapter Master Temperus Maximus surfed the Baneblade like a dingy, burning away its armor like a heat shield, as the tank reentered the Hive Worlds thin atmosphere.

Had this been a lesser developed world with a still intact thick atmosphere not eaten away from several millennia's worth of toxic industrial abuse… then the super heavy tank and other vehicles would have quickly disintegrated, but the battered planet didn't possess those defenses anymore so reentering the atmosphere was made all the more easy.

His escorting Leman Russ tanks and Chimera APC's started to shoot at pursuing Ork aircraft as together they burned through the atmosphere like arching comets. The Space Marine used his duel bolters to assists the guardsmen in their final moments of glory while directing the tank crews through his helmets vox. These men… there suits of exo-armor started to melt away, as they arced through the atmosphere. Most screamed in agony as they cooked alive while brutally slaying whatever Orks dared attack them with their primitive equipment. They were brave… and it made the Chapter Master smile fondly at such badass behavior.

"WE'ER OFF COURSE! TO THE LEFT!" he ordered angrily as several rounds bounced off the side of his Baneblade dingy. In response, the Super Heavy Tank and its additional falling vehicles rotated their turrets to the right and fired, redirecting their fight paths back into alignment.

It was glorious and utterly insane. The falling armored vehicles reentering the atmosphere were goring the Orks with anti-aircraft fire, and upon the Baneblade's falling prow stood Temperus Maximus in a glorious adventurers pose with fire sparking off his yellow armored bulk.

As the Chapter Master made landfall he couldn't help but think to himself angrily and loudly, 'I SURE WOULD LOVE TO SEE THAT SMURF PUSSY MARNEUS CALAGAR DO THIS SHIT!" because he knew for a fact that truly… only fucking pussies used drop pods, and that Pappa Smurf Mother-fucker was the worst of them all.


	4. Inquisitor Badasious Acometh

The space battle over Hive World Bengheim was reaching its crescendo as the Ork Invasion was contained and systematically eradicated by the Angry Marines Chapter. Such was the way of things, the Imperial Cruiser 'Thy Ancient Legend' lingered in the nearby asteroid belt, monitoring and commanding fleet actions through the star systems inter-vox network, as the battle continued unhindered.

This Terran warship was solid black with ornate golden trim along its numerous streamlines and buttresses. Inside, the lights were dimmed to a dull blue as a single man masked in shadows commanded the naval battle from a holo-projection view of the star system.

He leaned into the monitor, his chiseled fine chin ordained with a waxed brown short beard. His gloved hands glided through the holo-projection as he issued orders to several nearby officers in similar black tunics, "Interrogator Wise," he addressed a woman with black hair tossed over her left shoulder in a rather casual braid, a pair of spectacles upon her face reflecting light so that her eyes appeared like white ovals upon her visage.

"Yes my Lord Inquisitor," she replied with a bow before continuing her observations of the data slate in her hands, her eyes darting over combat data with fierce intelligence upon what would otherwise be a sincere emotionless face, grim and forever without humor. In response to her inquiry the man masked in the shadows chuckled to himself before replying, "I see that fool Temperus Maximus has joined the battle himself… wasting a Baneblade in the process… do contact the nearest fleet stockpile and request a replacement."

She nodded and wrote the necessary order down upon her data slate. Once more her superior leaned into the holo-projection, blue energy revealing his chiseled chin and waxed resonance-beard as the living actual human legend, 'The Old Man,' laughed to himself wickedly.

"Such futile resistance? These Orks don't even realize that they've already been beaten," he commented slyly, "Miss Wise, if you would be so kind… inform the fleet that I will be joining the battle as well… There is no longer any reason for me to remain in command…"

He was, of course, correct. The brunt of the Ork Invasion had already been silenced by the Imperial Navy. Only a stolen and retrofitted Battleship remained in operation by the greenskins just over the planet, and he had just given the order to Captain Illos Sinclair of, 'Thy Ancient Legend,' to join the Angry Marines Cruisers on their final orbital attack. As things stood… his presence was no longer needed in command and control of the situation, freeing him for more… leisurely killing.

"My lord?" she asked, surprised, those perched pink lips of hers slipping briefly into shock before once more closing tightly into an emotionless sneer. In response, the Inquisitor merely pushed away from the holo-projector and exited the command deck, his broad bulky body silhouetted against a white backdrop to the door suddenly opening into a highly illuminated corridor as he did so.

They called him… 'The Old Man,' an Inquisitor rumored to be, 'The First,' appointed by Malcador himself ten millennia ago. It was unknown whether this human was really the first inquisitor, or merely just ten millennium old, but… no one could deny his power, brilliance, or political reach. 'The Old Man,' his title, not his name, that Puritan Inquisitor who commanded the Angry Marines and Sisters of Anger… Who was he really?

The truth… was stranger than fiction. 'The Old Man' was a clone, a reincarnated fragment from a single legendary human who had perished long ago before humanity had taken its first baby steps out of the Sol System. This human, this legendary human to whom the Inquisitor owed his genetic lineage, was almost godlike in his reputation… taming bears, poisoning snakes with his blood, and countless other feet's of valor approaching a level similar to that of the Emperor himself.

Yes, Inquisitor Badasious was non-other than the genetic reincarnation of Chuck-Mother-Fucking-Norris, but almost everyone preferred to call him, 'The Old Man,' due to his lengthy age in comparison to that of even the Lords of Terra. This was a natural phenomenon from numerous gene-alterations from the original source material of his original donor, all meant to enhance his mind and body to super-human levels. The emperor had made these alterations when cloning him… and they all served to amplify his mind and body above and beyond that of even an Astartes.

Even still, ten millennia old, no one knew why Inquisitor Badasious was so ancient and physically capable despite his genetics, why death had yet to claim him, most theorized that disease or the other horrors of the 41st Millennium were merely too afraid to make an attempt on his life. Of course, in the Inquisitors defense… he did once teach a Swarm Lord how to 'love'… by raping the Tyranid until it accepted 'his' genetics giving birth to several baby humans instead of gene-altered freaks. And… he also once bedded and thoroughly satisfied both Lelith Hesperax and No'akei… at the exact same time. And… then there was that one time when he destroyed an entire Tau Armored Column with a napkin and salt shaker. So yes… Inquisitor Badasious had a reputation… So yes, they made him from Chuck Norris's DNA, 'The Old Man,' The First Inquisitor, and the handler of the Angry Marines, a position that he excelled at.

As The Inquisitor walked down the hallway from the bridge he heard his Interrogator running after him, her heels clanking against the deck plating as she jogged, data slate pressed up against her flat chest in sprint.

"My lord," she addressed him, while coming up to his side, panting for breath, "This ship doesn't have any more drop pods… nor can we drop you in with a…" He silenced her with an index finger to her pink lips. The action both startled and scared the poor woman.

"Only pussies use drop pods my dear," he said, while pushing away and entering the nearby air-lock before she could stop him, "Just get us close…" winking, "and I'll take care of the rest."

The air-lock cycled behind the Inquisitor as he adorned an exo-suit for spacewalking shortly before exiting the compartment into the void where numerous fireball plums marked the detonation of shipboard munitions contrasting the dull brown of the Hive Worlds atmosphere.

His feet instantly mag-locked to the hull of his black and gold warship as the lumbering armored giant slowly ascended from the asteroid belt from which it had been hiding. Large and small fragments of rock and metal bounced off, 'Thy Ancient Legend,' as it ascended slowly to take up its position alongside the other Cruisers of the Imperial Naval Assault Group, alongside, 'Thy Sisters Poon,' of the Angry Marines Chapter.

The Ork Battleship, a stolen Imperial Dreadnought gutted and refitted to add more guns and primitive armor plating, started to open fire at an excessive distance as the four Imperial Cruisers loyal to the Emperor raced around the planet, dodging flak and las fire glancing along their hulls at close proximity. There engines glowed bright blue with radioactive exhaust as they moved like a pack of feral hounds… each ship firing its own salvos at the Dreadnought. Fireball plums erupted along the Ork warships hull, shredding poorly painted red debris into the void as it continued to deliver it's additionally poorly aimed broadsides.

Numerous secondary explosions dotted the area around the planet as the ships closed the distance between the final Ork Orbital Defense Line and the charging Imperial Cruisers. Meanwhile, Inquisitor Badasious marched to the prow of his warship; saber in hand, eerie blue pysker fire ebbing from the blade as he pointed it at the Ork Dreadnought before them.

And then he yelled it, those precious words over the inter-system vox network to every ship and aircraft in the battle and under his command, saber pointed at the Dreadnought while standing exposed upon the tip of the Cruisers prow, "FLY ME CLOSER SO I CAN SWING MY SWORD AT IT!"

Despite the intensity of the firefight, no explosions nor las fire touched the exposed Inquisitor as the ships continued to close the distance… 'The Omnissiah's Dick;' moving at ramming speed through a field of twisted metal debris thudding along its hull. The stolen Ork Dreadnought unleashed its salvos to no avail as the Imperial Grand Cruiser tore through space, those words upon its battle ram becoming increasingly clear with every passing second, 'VIRGINS WELCOME FOR THY STEELY COCK!'

And so… the Angry Marines warship, 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' hit the Ork Dreadnought upon its exposed side, maintaining its speed, and passing clear through the warships hull and out the other side. Secondary explosions rippled through the wounded Ork Dreadnought as ammunition stockpiles cooked off, causing a chain reaction, which eventually hit the engine compartment. Seconds later, as 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' moved away from the split sides of the Dreadnoughts wreckage, other ships in the armada rejoining its flanking sides, the enemy warship simply exploded into a bright green radioactive flash as its plasma drive detonated.

Why had it been so simple to destroy the Ork Orbital Bastion? Easy enough, the Orks in their quests for ever increasingly deadly weaponry had removed or otherwise destroyed the fire doors between the Dreadnoughts ammunition compartments in order to accommodate MORE DAKKA. In doing so they had allowed for an uncontrolled detonation of munitions stockpiles should a catastrophic attack be delivered upon the warship. Thus, when, 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' had passed clean through the Dreadnought, the explosions of military grade munitions went unchecked until they hit the engine room, eventually setting of f the plasma drive.

Inquisitor Badassious stood at the prow of his warship as the quartet of Cruisers flew past the burning Dreadnought, its molten hulk crumpled up in the Hive Worlds atmosphere like a giant arcing comet. The damn thing would make landfall and cause serious damage… but… in the end it was still a job well done…

And, once again, some twisted humor from some unknown Fabricator General had venerated the day, as 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' proved too much for any enemy warship to handle, when sir-ship was rammed hard and fast, defloring its enemies unbattle-chastined hulk. In the end… the Orks probably approved of the joke despite being dead. Oh, to have been violated in naval combat… by… 'The Omnissiah's Dick,' such things brought glee to the Inquisitors bearded face.


	5. MONSTER TRUCKS!

Axe-Head was sitting in the turret canopy of his Battlewagon shooting his auto-cannon at a pair of nearby cowering guardsmen who were hiding in some ruined habs made out of partially demolished stone and mortar. This was fucking awesome, he was orgasmicly pleasured and entertained by the noise and smoke and constant vibrations of the turret weapons frame in his hands as it fired a never-ending stream of dakka at those flimsy pink fleshy things that typically exploded like meat confetti when hit by his awesome thundering doomsday arsenal.

His vehicle, the Ork Battlewagon painted black and red with a siege ram before its awesome metal bulk, roared its engines, sending a giant plum of red fire and black exhaust into the air as he continued to open fire, laughing manically the entire time in a long dull roar of, 'waaaaaaaaaaaaagh.'

And then… another vehicle pulled up alongside his… coming to rest at eye level. Axe-Head stopped his shooting and glanced at two power armored Astartes sitting side by side just a few feet away… starring at him in the most unnerving possible way as duel yellow flags, one on each rear corner of the hummies own towering truck, blew in the wind reveling an angry faced insignia. The Ork Nob took a few brief seconds to glance over the side of his perched turret high off the ground to take in the sight of the newly arrived human vehicle sitting next to his own.

This beast, this human made thing, was fifteen feet tall and consisted of four large truck tires under a highly retrofitted Tauros armored car. The vehicle itself had a larger engine, bigger exhaust pipes, and by all that was holy from Mort and Gort, HE WANTED ONE! He wanted one of these monsters, one of these trucks, one of these MONSTER TRUCKS!

It was now that the two Astartes looked at him and revved their engine, their vehicle jarring forward with each press of the gas pedal, as one of them turned up their onboard vox to blast their vehicles radio broadcast through the crumbling city ruins.

_Space Marines, FUCK YEAH!_

_Comin' again to save the mother fucking day, yeah!_

_Space Marines, FUCK YEAH!_

_The Emperor is the only way!_

The Ork Nob watched the space marine in the passenger seat flip him off while the driver accelerated his vehicle and pulled into the ruins. To the orks surprise, this was one of many large human trucks suddenly roaring over the landscape like a horde of angry greenskins… except… they were hummies and hummies weren't suppose to be like Orks… and that was puzzling to the lowly Nob.

These men were crazed, insane, their trucks painted yellow and mounted upon huge oversized tires that gored everything they ran over with imbedded metal spikes, while swerving over trenches and through collapsed stone buildings, laughing, as if it were some sort of playground.

Some of these hummies 'Monster Trucks' even had mounted halftrack cannons forged from four multi-melta guns welded together into a single truck mounted flatbed turret. The Ork Nob watched one sort truck swerve past him, a Human Astartes Terminator in yellow power armor waving a power shovel in cheer while grasping the trucks gun turrets activation trigger with his other hand, mowing down a group of Orks caught out in the open as he did so.

As these men drove past him in a haze of black exhaust Axehead heard numerous 'yeehaas' and a continuation of that music through the intense vibrations of noise from both engines and gunfire alike.

_Chaos your game is through, 'cause now you have to answer to…_

_Space Marines, FUCK YEAH!_

_So lick my ass and suck on my balls!_

_Space Marines, FUCK YEAH!_

_Whatcha gonna do when they come for you now?_

It was now that one of the human vehicles swerved into a long stretch of greenskins caught between two trenches. This vehicle, with its scythed chainblade wheels, instantly started to cut down everything that got in its way as two more Monster Trucks came in from the sides, multi-melta turrets blazing away into the nearby building goring greenskins and guardsmen at the exact same time.

_It's the dream we all share_

_It's the hope to kill tomorrow! FUCK YEAH!_

Axehead now heard a rumbling, and both his vehicle and the entire planet started to tremble as a terrible black shadow crept over the shattered landscape. He looked up, and saw it… flaming wreckage from numerous burning tanks arcing overhead. This included a massive tank… a Baneblade, fire ebbing off its sides as metal and paint burned away upon reentry.

_Baneblades, FUCK YEAH!_

_Imperial Guard, FUCK YEAH!_

_Plasma Guns, FUCK YEAH!_

_Chain Swords, FUCK YEAH!_

_Power Armor, FUCK YEAH!_

_Bolters, FUCK YEAH!_

_Geneseed, FUCK YEAH!_

_Battle Barges, FUCK YEAH!_

This falling metal tank turned its gun turret to the side, ominously, and directly at Axeheads own vehicle. Suddenly, the Ork felt an intense feeling of inadequacy in his pathetically small battle wagon now confronted by the awesome might of the hummie Baneblade Super Heavy Tank… that was… before the Baneblade itself opened fire and turned him and his own vehicle into cooking green meat roasting over partially melted wreckage.

_FUCK YEAH!_

As the Baneblade made planetary reentry, and the Angry Marine 'Calvary' swept through the Hive World Habs, the Orks finally decided to 'take off the gloves' so to speak. Numerous guardsmen of the Hive Bengheim PDF broke ranks as a Stompa emerged from a nearby industrial center where the Cult Mechanicus typically oversaw the forging of the Hive Worlds Imperial Tithe.

However, this Ork mechanization, despite it shock value was also simply out matched by the pure badassry of the Angry Marines Machine Spirits who instinctively swerved from their planetary reentry routes in an effort to slam directly into the Stompa, from orbit, blazing trails of red fire through and past buildings and directly at the worst Ork armored units.

Three Leman Russ tanks missed, exploding like small thermal nuclear bombs, when they struck the ground surrounding the stompa… but… the Baneblade… whose machine spirit frankly didn't give a shit, loamed closer and closer, overshadowing the Ork Stompa in an ominous hunters gaze as it blazed like a star over the Hives ultra Dense Urban Center… until… it crashed directly into the Ork war machine. Red fire swept over the landscape around the crash site in a massive kinetic and atomic blast, killing hundreds of Imperial Guards and thousands of Greenskins who had placed their bets on the Stompa for protection. Meanwhile… the song continued.

_Eldar Pussy, FUCK YEAH!_

_Decorative Skulls, FUCK YEAH!_

_Machine Spirits, FUCK YEAH!_

_Bolter Bitches, FUCK YEAH!_

_Servator's, FUCK YEAH!_

From the ruins of the Baneblade, slowly and epically, he stood and stepped forward, his image a silhouetted shadow towering bulk of metal against a blood red fire for he was the Angry Marines Chapter Master, his helmet removed, cigar burning between his sneering lips, chainblade gauntlets upon his wrists activated as he ran towards the nearest concentration of greenskins. This man, this Astartes, fell upon the Orks like a demon, cutting them to ribbons with passionate glee as nearby Guardsmen watched his savage butchery with total awe and fear.

_Machine Cult! FUCK YEAH!_

_Ecclesiarchy! FUCK YEAH!_

_Chaplains! FUCK YEAH!_

_Mutual Understanding,... FUCK… YEAH?_

As Temperus Maximus brutalized an Ork Kommando by showing a power fisted chain blade gauntlet up the poor xenos ass, Commissar 'Dangerous' Dan drove his pet artillery unit 'Fluffy' over some nearby trenches while leading an assault of yellow armored guardsmen. The Commissar's chain blade was raised, blood and dirt blowing up in his face from nearby artillery blasts, as he screamed, 'Charge you sons of whores!' urging the Sons of Ollanius Pius into the fray.

_Titan Walkers, FUCKY YEAH!_

_Exterminatus, FUCK YEAH!_

_Killing Heretics, FUCK YEAH!_

_Earth, FUCK YEAH!_

As Dangerous Dan lead the charge into enemy lines with the Sons of Ollanius Pius, Brother Sergeant Slaughter finally reached the Ork Artillery Base, the yellow armored Valkyrie dropping them in from on high and directly into the middle of the battle, power shovels and power wrenches landing vicious melee blows upon sortie. In a matter of seconds the Ork Artillery Base was on fire with screaming Nobs burning and fleeing while waving their scrawny green arms as the Belligerent Machine set the foul xenos aflame with his duel mounted flamers.

_Commissars, FUCK YEAH!_

_Melta Bombs, FUCK YEAH!_

_The Emperor, FUCK YEAH!_

_The Inquisition, FUCK YEAH!_

It was now that the song started to wind down as all these elements of the Angry Marines Chapter unleashed their brutal assault upon the Ork Invaders. The battle was vicious… but not as vicious as what was occurring far away at the Planetary Governor's Mansion.

Here, Commissar Fuklaw stood outside the wooden doors of the governors personal chambers, deep within aristocratic fools personal his estate house. The man, an aging badass himself was smoking, taking deep drags from an imho stick held firmly in his grey lips, as the screaming and savage whipping occurred within the governors bed chambers.

"Who's been a bad boy!? Letting Xenos filth upon this world! Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!" yelled a loud female voice as a whip crackled against flesh. Inside this bed chamber the planetary governor lay bound and naked in his bed, the power armored yellow high heel of a Sister of Rage planted against his cheek. Blood pooled into the bed sheets from the governors numerous open wounds as the woman whipped him again and again and again, the governor struggling to yell with a ball gag clasped firmly within his mouth.

_Primarchs, FUCK YEAH!_

_Pyskers, FUCK YEAH!_

_Dreadnoughts, FUCK YEAH!_

_Bed Bath Body and Beyond…_

As Commissar Fuklaw continued to hear the governor struggle against the Sisters of Rage torture he couldn't help but brandish his pistol and slowly open the door. The torturess stopped her whipping and turned towards the Commissar as he, hunched over with angry blood shot eyes, strolled into the room, pointing his gun at the naked and gored governor lying shamefully upon his silk sheets. The torturess undid the ball gag in the governor's mouth, allowing the man a deep agony moan.

"I swear," gurgled the governor in bloody spittle, "It was that girl… the one with the lisp. She tricked me into allowing the Xenos…" Before he could finish his pathetic sobbing explanation, Commissar Fuklaw pointed his gun at the governor's head and blew his brains out… "Heresy" said the old man before storming out of the bed chambers, the Sister of Rage Torturess behind him.

The Commissar already knew who the governor was talking about. That young female Cultist, the one with a lisp, who had been causing so many rebellions all across several planets within this sector, the 'Old Man' referenced her as the 'Little Tiger' due to the ornamental stripes upon her face and neck. Yes, she was here… and she was directly responsible for unleashing the Orks upon this Hive World…. All the Commissar had to do was report the problem… telling the Angry Marines, Sons of Ollanius Pius, and Sisters of Rage; to look for her… to look for a purple haired girl and ancient smoking Traitor Marine…


	6. Dances With Dranon

The Angry Marines were just finishing up their final patrol through what remained of the Ork Artillery Base when they smelt it, the thick musk of tobacco from Imho Sticks, but it wasn't a thin haze, oh no this was a white cloud… emerging from a nearby hab building like a morning toxic fog forming amidst the acidic waste slums of a Mechanicus Forge Works.

"HEY FATASS!" pointed Brother Sergeant Slaughter to one his men, "GO CHECK THAT FUCKING THING OUT!"

"YES BROTHER SERGEANT!" replied the other yellow armored Astartes with a hint of above average agitation as he strolled away from his squad towards the nearby rockcrete hab building eking eerie white fog from its cracked windows. Gently, as gently as any brutish Angry Marine could be, this Astartes pushed aside the door allowing a thick cloud of dense white smoke to seep out from the interior like sauna steam. Before him, appearing as a shadowy sitting figure, was some strange old man, huge, his feet elevated upon a stool as the rest of his body sat leisurely nestled within a plush red velvet chair stained with water decay from several days of atmospheric abuse?

"Why the hell are you bothering me boy?" asked a muddled raspy voice inside the room, as its speaker exhaled and coughed more white smoke while sitting lazily in his chair. These fumes were intense; Emperor only knew the nicotine content from these Imho sticks.

"YOU THERE! THE BIG MOTHER FUCKER! OUTSIDE NOW!" yelled the Angry Marine while motioning with his bolter, still unsure as to who or what this massive person was since the thick white smoke hid most of his actual body, and it remained difficult to make out any certain details, superior Astartes genetically enhanced vision be damned.

In response this second armored giant slowly arose from his seat, popping his neck loudly with grinding bones raking against grinding bones, "That," he said with a wheezing laugh, "Was the way wrong answer."

Brother Sergeant Slaughter heard the explosion right before everything around him went to hell in a hand basket. Loose mortar, dirt, and what was once a fellow Battle Brother, specifically the one he had just sent to inspect the smoking building, were now raining down in pieces upon what remained of the Ork Artillery Base where wrecked vehicles dotted a former habitats urban terrace. Black smoke from burning oil and lubricants blurred the emerging image as it slowly strolled forward through the fog of war like a menacing demon, emerging as it were from the smoking ruins it had previously inhabited. There was also gunfire from the surrounding sporadic battles between guardsmen and orks… but that was of minor concern compared to the foe that had just appeared.

This man, this single towering individual in blood red armor emerged from what remained of the smoking building, his bulky metal clad body parting the obnoxious imho smog of his own creation in confident strides as streams of acidic white mist rolled off his armored edges.

He was an Astartes, a Traitor Marine, with spiky red armor and a skeletal head covered in ancient green skin formed like leather across his aged face and against his mechanical augmentations. Within this persons lips there was also a single light Imho stick, a trail of white smoke following his armored bulk with each trailing step as he proceeded forth from the burning ruins of twisted wood and stone from his prior place of leisure.

"So," said this person smugly, "The Emperor sent his 'Yellow Chickens' this time. I suppose it's a step up from those Ultra-smurf pansies."

"CHICKENS!?" yelled Brother-Sergeant Slaughter. Out of all the insults one could levy against an Angry Marine, the term 'Chicken' because of their yellow armor was considered the worst, "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING US CHICKENS YOU FUCKING MOTHER FUCKER!?"

The red armored Astartes stopped briefly to take a long drag from his Imho stick, red bionic eyes relaxing briefly in euphoria within his green skinned bristle haired head, "You really wanna know boy, because I'll tell you?" he stalled briefly for another long drag, "Why boy? I think that I'm speaking to an angry little pussy whose about to get fucked up by a 'real' space marine."

In response to their new found enemy's quip, two Battle Brothers driven into an instant rage leapt at the red armored menace, power wrenches coming down in giant arcs, but this person… he simply stepped aside and dodged. One of the Angry Marines who had over dedicated his lunge caught a red boot to his chin and a bolter shot to his mid-section splattering him into the muddy soil with motionless grace. His compatriot had time to parry the enemy bolter and was about to dedicate another swing with his power wrench when the Chaos Marine suddenly head butted him, an ancient green skinned skull smashing against a yellow armored helmet, wrecking the Angry Marines optics into shattered red lenses.

The Angry Marine was now blind and disoriented, and the Chaos Marine used this brief moment of weakness to shoot him gracelessly in the chest three times, flooring the Battle Brother before he could react.

Brother Sergeant Slaughter watched this Chaos Marine stop briefly, taking another long drag from his still light Imho stick, a thick white fog forming around this traitors head, "Back in my day," spoke the Chaos Marine, "Being a Space Marine meant that you weren't just some pansy ass chicken shit and you could actually fight. Furthermore, didn't anyone ever tell you?" he motioned comically with his hands, "Helmets are for pussies."

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ASSWIPE?" asked Brother Sergeant Slaughter, stepping forward while drawing his own power wrench for a one on one duel, electrical discharge also sparking from his duel power gauntlets. His enemy took another long drag from his Imho stick, burning the last of the sweet sweet tobacco down to the filter before flinging away the spent butte, rapidly drawing another, lighting it, and continuing his smoking in one fluid motion, his entire chain smoking serenade lasting mere seconds, "Dranon… and it seems like I have a little spare time to play around with you kids… so… why don't you fight me like your lives depend upon it… 'Little Chickens.'"

"DON'T CALL ME A MOTHER FUCKING CHICKEN!" yelled Brother Sergeant Slaughter as he angrily leapt at the Chaos Marine, his men following him into the fray with power wrenches raised and sparking with electricity.

"Huh," laughed Dranon, "Finally something more entertaining to do other than babysit that stupid little girl. Let's see what these kids can do…"

As the battle between the Orks and Angry Marines continued to turn Hive Bingheim into a smoldering ruin, an unknown and unobserved girl with short spiky purple hair skipped her way through vacant streets lined with bloody mutilated corpses and collapsed stone rubble. She was young, perhaps in her early teens, certainly no older than thirteen, with dark purple hair, blood red eyes, and several strange striped birth marks upon her face and neck. Also, her choice of clothing was black rags, a small tattered miniskirt, clothe boots and arm gloves wrapped in red cord, and a strange black brassier covering a rather humbly sized chest.

This child, with darkened chocolate skin and sharp knife like teeth laughed to herself as she skipped over the dead and decaying bodies of humans and orks alike all while singing…

"Anf ifs yurs herts stuffs beafing"

(And if your heart stops beating)

"I'lz befs hers woderzings"

(I'll be here wondering)

"Didz yufs getz whafs yufs dezerszeed?"

(Did you get what you deserved?)

"Thez enzing of yurz lufs…"

(The ending of your life…)

Dranon ducked the first Angry Marine with ease, and why not… he had laughably more combat experience than the entirety of their combat squad put together, and shortly thereafter he pulled a melta charge from his side and stuck it to the chest of a poor stupid yellow armored man, kicking him back to his fellows, and blowing up four of the angry morons all at once.

"Anz ufs yuz gefs to Hueven"

(And if you get to Heaven)

"I'z beez thurz waitn, bab"

(I'll be there waiting, Babe)

"Diz yufs gez whutx yufs deservez?"

(Did you get what you deserve?)

Another Angry Marine came in from the left. Dranon saw the poor sod out of the corner of his eye and simply kicked him in the ribs. Two more from the left, he ducked the first and shot the second with a bolter in his shins, kneecapped, he feel to the ground enraged.

"Thz enzin, anfs ufs yufs livfs wun't wut"

(The end, and if your life won't wait)

"Thunz yuf're hurtz canz tukes thufs"

(Then you're heart can't take this)

Two of the Angry Marines previously bombed by the melta blast were back up on their feet, charging him again with raised power wrenches, both men were wounded but still gunning for a fight. Dranon grinned wickedly, kneecapping one and parrying the other mans power wrench, casually flattening him while he was off balance and finishing the Angry Marine with a shot to the face, dead.

"Huves yufs hurdz thufs nuws thus yufs deaz?

(Have you heard the news that you're dead?)

"Nz ufs evzr has mufs nife tux sufs"

(No one ever had much nice to say)

"I thunk thufs nevzr lufs yufs anzwufs"

(I think they never liked you anyway.)

Dranon saw Brother Sergeant Slaughter coming at him out of the corner of his eye and ducked the first attempt to land a blow, electrical discharge sparkling inches away from his red bionic eyes. The second wrench swipe caught his right shoulder guard, but it was a feighting blow which only left a minor burn mark upon his crimson armor. In response the Chaos Marine kicked the 'chicken' sergeant away and shot him in the left leg. Two more Angry Marines charged in to fill the sergeant combatant's void. One of these men had been previously kneecapped and was standing upon his shattered shins with a power wrench ready for a killing blow. He was off-balance, his anger clouding his better judgment.

"Ofs tukz mx frofs thz hosiftal befs"

(Oh take me from the hospital bed)

"Woolfn't it bef granf?" Ift ain'tf ecaztly whatx yuf planedz?"

(Wouldn't it be grand? It ain't exactly what you planned?)

"Anz woulfn't itf be greap if wex werz deaf?"

(And wouldn't it be great if we were dead?)

"Ohhh deaf?"

(Ohh dead?)

With ease the traitor marine kicked away the wounded man given his off-kilter stance and focused on his fellow Astartes in terminator power armor, 'point towards enemy,' all those explosives upon his body, the fool was going to kill them both. Dranon quickly ducked and rolled, using a downed Angry Marine for cover as the Terminator suicide bombed the area around him. Three more Angry Marines were instantly caught in the blast, but they continued to fight despite the blood seeping from several holes in their armor where shrapnel had managed to find flesh. As for the terminator, his armor was blackened by the outward explosion and he lay motionless but alive upon the muddy ground.

"Tongz tifs anz ofs soz squeamifsh"

(Tongue tied and oh so squeamish)

"Yufs nevrz fefs ins lufs"

(You never feel in love)

"Diz yufs gitz whufs yufs dezservs?"

(Did you get what you deserve?)

"Thufs enzing ufs yufs livez"

(The ending of your life)

Another Angry Marine came from the side. This one had an Eldar skull crotch piece and was swinging his power wrench in a giant arc. Dranon kicked the man in the groin, shattering the decorative war trophy, forcing the Astartes to his knees, where the Traitor Marine shot him twice in the face as a coup de grace. Shortly after this brutal execution a large black shadow swept over the area as a lumbering swearing Dreadnought waddled into the fray spewing jets of flame from duel mounted flame throwers.

"Anz uf yuf gez tu Hufevn"

(And if you get to Heaven)

"I'z bf huz waizn, baf"

(I'll be here waiting, babe)

"Diz yuf gez whf yuf dezerv?"

(Did you get what you deserve?)

Dranon ducked and rolled away from the towering Dreadnought as Brother Sergeant Slaughter suddenly swept in from the side, the man's power boots and power fists sparking as he tried to tackle the Traitor Marine. However, those efforts were largely wasted as Dranon pulled out another melta-charge and tossed it like a Frisbee towards the obnoxious cursing machine, shooting it with his bolter in mid-flight. The resulting explosion blew the Belligerent Machine backwards in a heap, but still functional if only momentarily incapacitated.

"The enz, anf if yuf luf wonz tuf it"

(The end, and if your life won't take it)

"Thez yuf hurt canz takz tfis"

(Then your heart can't take this)

However, Dranon had also momentarily forgotten about the Brother Sergeant who now closed the distance to thunder plow the Chaos Marine in the face, electricity scorching green skin in the process. Dranon was momentarily stunned, but far from out of the fight. As he brushed the blow aside, rolling with the momentum of the punch, he pulled up his bolter and shot the Brother Sergeant twice in the chest. Brother Sergeant Slaughter fell to the ground bleeding from his wounds and in agony, but also not dead like many of his men. By now, the Belligerent Machine was back in the fight, standing up from its prior injuries via the melta-charge.

"Huves yufs hurdz thufs nuws thus yufs deaz?

(Have you heard the news that you're dead?)

"Nz ufs evzr has mufs nife tux sufs"

(No one ever had much nice to say)

"I thunk thufs nevzr lufs yufs anzwufs"

(I think they never liked you anyway.)

At this point Dranon was out of Melta Charges and all he could do was watch the Belligerent Machine menacingly march towards him, flamers getting ready to fry him where he stood. However, this wasn't the end. Suddenly, from the side, a little purple haired girl leapt from the top of a burning building and landed on top of the angry machine, laughing with joy as she rode upon its shoulders.

"Mr Skittles… WEEEEE!" she cheered, her face light up with joy as the Belligerent Machine tried to throw her off.

"GET OFF OF ME YOU CRAZY BITCH!" yelled the entombed Angry Marine as he spun wildly upon his chassis in an attempt to throw off the little fleshy wretch.

"Pony! Pony! You're like a pony!" she continued to laugh. Dranon used this brief moment to find a satchel of grenades on a fallen Angry Marine. Quickly, he armed one of these explosives as the little girl leapt off the Dreadnought, still smiling and laughing as she tucked and rolled away behind a burning Siege Gun.

"Ofs tukz mx frofs thz hosiftal befs"

(Oh take me from the hospital bed)

"Woolfn't it bef granf?" Ift ain'tf ecaztly whatx yuf planedz?"

(Wouldn't it be grand? It ain't exactly what you planned?)

"Anz woulfn't itf be greap if wex werz deaf?"

(And wouldn't it be great if we were dead?)

The Traitor Marine tossed the grenades at the base of the Dreadnought, the explosives igniting, throwing dirt and other debris up into the machines face. With a distraction now provided, Dranon ran to the side and grabbed the little girl as she danced, laughed, and sung nearby right behind the Siege Gun. He grabbed her by the waist and leapt over the parapet of the terrace towards the city down below.

The little loin spawn demon continued to sing as the pair fell towards freedom and safety, but frankly… Dranon was getting to old for this and ignored her joyous musings as the Dreadnought screamed up above.

"I'LL GET YOU, YOU TRAITOROUS FUCK! NOW GET BACK HEEEEEEEEEEEERE!"


End file.
